Ours

A fictional short story about a man's loss.

Clark sat outside on the porch. His wooden chair creaked with each rock, his feet pressed firmly on the old oak floorboards. It was nice outside. It wasn't too cold like it usually was during late October for Clark, but it was comfortable enough for him to wear a light jacket. A gentle breeze whistled through the treetops of the apple blossom in his front yard, and his dull cerulean eyes absentmindedly watched as the branches bent with the force of the gentle wind. The leaves too weak to hold on broke away and lifted up into the air; they twirled and danced, spinning towards the ground in a way that made their decent a beautiful death.

It had been a month since Allison's passing. The funeral was marvelous. All of Allison's family had been there, as well as most of Clark's. Many people cried and many of them prayed. Many of them had stayed behind afterwards to give Clark their condolences, and he had numbly accepted each one with a nod of his head in silent gratitude. He was the only one left once everyone had gone home.

Relatives of his had sent flowers, baked goods, and cards. Allison's family had sent bouquets as well, along with more baked goods and more cards. He planted every flower around Allison's grave, keeping them together in the groups they had been given in. He ate every dish he received, even the ones he didn't like. They meant so much more than just a simple meal. For the cards, he put them in Allison's nightstand drawer. He had read through each one, more than once, and had thanked each and every person for sending them.

Now, he gradually stood, his knees popping as he straightened. The afternoon sun was high in the sky, just the perfect time for him to visit his wife. Stepping into the house, the quietness settled over him like a thick blanket he couldn't find his way out from underneath. Every noise seemed to be twice as loud. The whines of the wooden floor beneath his feet had gone unnoticed until now as he made his way towards the fridge. He hesitated as he gripped the handle, looking at the photos magnetized to the door.

There were numerous shots of Allison and him, many of them taken during their few adventures together. One showed them in front of Old Faithful, Allison on his back with her arms laced around his chest while he held her legs. Another picture had them sitting on a bench at the Pearl Harbor Memorial, Clark and Allison both in shades and huge hats as the Pacific Ocean rolled with the breeze behind them. In both photos, the two of them were grinning ear to ear, as if the world couldn't be any more perfect. To those seeing the pictures for the first time, the fun-loving smiles were all they saw. However, Clark knew the deeper stories behind each one. In the photo from Yosemite National Park, Clark had given Allison a piggyback ride that afternoon because her blood sugar level had dropped halfway through the hike, making her too weak to walk. In the other, they were both wearing large sunhats because his wife had felt ridiculous in hers and embarrassed of her bald head, so he'd decided to take her mind off of it by making her laugh as he donned a giant hat of his own.

There were other pictures on the fridge, too. There was one of Allison and him from a few years back, sitting outside with the ground looking as it did now; littered with gold and brown leaves. They were smiling, laughing away as they butchered a poor pumpkin they had tried to carve simultaneously. Photos like that were Clark's favorite, for they represented the special times he and Allison had shared something they could call their own.

Something we could call ours.

He smiled at the thought, letting go of the handle to brush a finger over their happy faces.

The sharp ring of the phone caused Clark to start, his gaze swiftly finding the blinking receiver. Dropping his hand, he reached over to where it sat chirping in its dock and picked it up.

"Hello?"

"Hey. I was just callin' to see how you were holdin' up."

Clark's body relaxed as he recognized Dave's drawl. Leaning against the counter, he positioned the phone closer to his ear.

"I'm doing okay." Glancing over at the fridge, his voice grew soft. "I just miss her."

"I know ya do." Pause. "We all do. She was a great woman. She's in a better place, though. She knows how much she meant to ya. Ya never let her doubt it, not even fer a minute."

Clark felt his eyes dampen and his grip on the receiver tightened. His voice came out quieter than before. "I'm going to go see her. Would you like to come?"

A few moments later, a dry honk announced the arrival of his brother. Deciding to leave his jacket on, Clark left the empty house and slid into the old Chevy pick-up, listening to it rumble as they pulled out of the driveway.

"Ya seem extra quiet today." Even though he was staring ahead, Clark noticed the man give him a sideways glance.

"Just reminiscing."

With a short nod, Dave grew silent. The rest of the drive was silent as well, even after they pulled into the cemetary. Slipping out of the vehicle, Clark made his way over to the most colorful grave. Dave lingered behind, leaning against his truck as he watched his older brother gaze down at the plot. If someone studied the still fresh dirt, they would know that the death was still young. The surface soil was a light brown, dusty from the lack of rain. The only water it had tasted since the burial had been salty.

"I've been curious about it for a while," mentioned Dave from behind him. "What is that pumpkin doin' sitting beside her tombstone?"

Clark's gaze shifted to the small plastic pumpkin, its simplistic black features cheerfully warped. He remembered how he'd come across it during his latest trip to the grocery store. All the Halloween decor was on sale, and he'd seen it hiding behind a few of its kin. The others were in perfect condition, not a flaw on their grinning faces. His, however, was flawed, its smile and eyes distorted and sloppy. The cashier had hesitantly asked if he would rather have one that wasn't messed up, but Clark found it perfect in every way because when he looked at it, he saw his beloved Allison and the delightfully imperfect pumpkin they'd made together.

He couldn't help but return the smile that the jack o'lantern crookedly beamed at him.

"Because it's ours."

He knew Dave wouldn't completely understand, and the lack of response proved he was right. Clark stood at the foot of the grave, his eyes bright as the sun that shone over him. When he looked up and squinted at the glorious ball of light, he could swear he saw it smiling, too.